


High Hopes Low...Chocolate?

by Goldstone_Wolf



Series: High Hopes Low (Blank) [17]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), High Hopes Low Rolls (Web Series)
Genre: Lots and lots of pain, M/M, Magic, Menstrual Cycles, Period Discussions, more TBA - Freeform, this was meant to be strictly fluff but I'm in pain right now so they're suffering too, tws for:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24279610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstone_Wolf/pseuds/Goldstone_Wolf
Summary: Once again, Paddy and Malark have managed to piss off a witch. This time, however, they don’t get cursed with bad luck.No, this is something much, much worse.[Don’t be scared of the synopsis, this is a crackfic written by me to deal with the lovely fact my body is reminding me painfully of the fact I am not a man in every respect]
Relationships: Malark Dundragon/Paddock "Paddy" Whitlaw
Series: High Hopes Low (Blank) [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692196
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	High Hopes Low...Chocolate?

**Author's Note:**

> TWs in tags. I may not be so…yeugh on here for a little while, a friend of mine passed away on the fifteenth and this is how I deal with things. Anyways, I picked Malark because we whump Paddy a lot in this community and I thought it’d be funny if he got all…yeaugh with this kind of thing. I’m making him suffer because I’m suffering, too. Sorry, Mal (and, by extension, I guess Phil, too).   
> I guess in this, it’s an AU because Paddy and Malark are together specifically so that I don’t have to dance around awkward flirty disaster gays.  
> Now, let’s get into this!

Whatever Paddy had done to piss the witch from yesterday off, he wanted to go back and apologise. Desperately.

He wasn’t sure what he did, but apparently it was something. Obviously. Not that anyone else had said that, no one had, but the fact was that Malark straight-up (probably the only straight thing he ever did) had not talked at _all_ when they were near her yesterday. He hadn’t talked _to_ her, _about_ her, or anything else. Paddy couldn’t remember her name (maybe it was Cybil? Courtney? Crystal? Something like that), but Malark hadn’t even mentioned her in passing. So he couldn’t have done anything, and therefore it had to be Paddy.

And at the moment, Malark was almost writhing on their bed, in a significant amount of pain.

It hurt to watch, honestly. Zada was leaning over him, trying to figure out what was going on, but he kept slapping at her arms any time she touched him. “Malark, you need to—”

“Zada, if you tell me to hold still _one more time, I am going to murder you._ Now get your hands _away from me._ ” He snarled, and Zada shot him a look before weaving some sort of spell together. Meanwhile, Paddy took Malark’s hand and squeezed it once, sitting beside him on the covers. They’d woken up that morning and Malark was just…suddenly in a massive amount of pain. No explanation why, just him being in a lot of pain. Like, enough to make him start to _react like a normal human being_ instead of being his usually reserved, emotionally-suppressed self.

He’d screamed into the pillows and cried already, which was probably why he didn’t want anyone except Paddy (who had already seen him do both those things) to be around him.

Eventually, Zada stepped back with a deadpan expression. “Well, to put it simply: you’ve been cursed and there’s no cure.”

“What?!” Paddy stared at her with wide eyes, and Malark glared at him like he wanted to rip Paddy’s throat out with his bare hands. Actually, he might have wanted to—although Paddy wasn’t sure he could blame him.

The moon elf raised a hand. “Chill out, Paddy, it’ll go away on its own in about a week.” Paddy opened his mouth again and Malark slapped a hand over his face to keep him from talking. “Yes, a week. He’ll be fine, it’s just going to hurt like hell. Now, I’ll go talk to Hashaan about it, and she’ll probably come by to help. Everyone else should leave you alone as much as possible. And Malark?” The assassin looked at her. Smiling, she said, “Please try not to kill Paddy.”

“No promises.”

+++

Hashaan was a gift from Bahumat, and whoever said otherwise could fight Malark.

He kept trying to tell himself he was overreacting and that he’d had worse. Logically, he had. He’d fought scores of monsters before and hadn’t exactly escaped those fights unscathed. For him to be crippled by something as simple as…whatever this was—it was ridiculous!

And yet it currently felt like his stomach was being chewed out by racoons and his hips and back ached like a horse and wagon had run him over. And someone was stabbing a knife into his gut and twisting it. And the knife had a serrated edge. And was on fire. And poison-tipped.

Paddy was not helping.

Speaking of the wood elf, he was currently going on yet another rant. For some reason, he blamed himself for the spell. Really, Malark had a feeling that the witch they had encountered was just making some mischief, and they ended up on the wrong side of the spell. “I’m really sorry, Malark, I shouldn’t have—”

“Paddy,” the wood elf met his gaze, and Malark glared at him, _“shut up.”_

He opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it and closed his mouth with a nod. Content, Malark settled back into the pillows and stared at the ceiling. There wasn’t much they could do. Hashaan had ordered some—

His stomach started trying to tear itself apart in an even more fierce way, sending the ache up to a stabbing pain, and he curled in on himself. Part of him knew he needed to stretch out, that curling up like that was only making all the muscles move and making things worse, but he didn’t want to be that exposed.

After a moment, Paddy decided that touching him was apparently worth the risk of death and slid up behind him, arms wrapping gently around his waist and pulling him close. “You can punch me later if you want.” He whispered, and Malark half-laughed.

At some point, he ended up dozing off, albeit unintentionally.

+++

When he woke up, Paddy was gone and he just about almost broke down right then and there.

Admittedly, it wasn’t just because he wanted Paddy there. The heat had felt really nice and now it was gone and now he wanted to cry even more because the heat wasn’t there and his stomach was cramping. His _legs_ hurt, too. That didn’t even make _sense_.

Obviously, he had already figured out what that spell was. It wasn’t just pain, it was a specific kind of pain, and he and Paddy had been targeted because they were two dudes who likely didn’t know this kind of pain. The ladies on the team, of course, knew. That was part of why he’d wanted to try sucking it up. Of course, Hashaan wasn’t taking any of that and had told him to stay where he was or else Gwing and Rook would sic Nala and Zenya on him.

For once, he was actually up for that, if only for the cuddles.

Which, yes, he wanted. Not that he didn’t want them on a regular basis, but he was fine with not touching people (no he wasn’t, he was touch-starved to high heaven and Paddy’s nightly need for contact had somehow made it worse because now he was aware of it). Speaking of being _fine_ , he _wasn’t_. Something was _wrong with him_ and he couldn’t _figure it out_ but it was just _wrong._

The door opened while he was in the middle of trying to puzzle through what was wrong.

Glaring at Paddy, he opened his mouth and demanded, “Where the blazes have you been, you sad excuse for a badger?” _Did something happen? Are you okay? Is everyone else okay? Did I miss a fight?_

_Why am I thinking like this this isn’t normal none of this is normal._

Smiling, Paddy sat down at his back and then curled up with him again. It was dark, he could barely see, and dimly he reminded himself to make a few more knots in his time marker. “Nothing’s wrong, Malark. I just went to try and find out some more information—I’ll be right here when you wake up, I promise.”

“You better be.”

+++

Two days later, Malark woke up in the middle of the night with some of the worst pain of his life.

For a second, he actually found himself looking for someone stabbing or attacking him. That was actually what it felt like. Someone taking a knife and using it to rip out his internal organs. Gasping, he pressed his hands to his stomach, glancing around.

Beside him, Paddy was jolting awake and upright, obviously disoriented and concerned all at once. “Whoa, Malark? What’s up?” He pulled him close and Malark winced without really trying to because moving hurt everything hurt and _he didn’t know why but he could not move._ “Whoa, hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay, hold still. Hold still.” Still holding onto him, Paddy slowly leaned back so they were both lying down again, keeping Malark pressed right up next to him the whole time. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. Where’s it hurt?”

Shakily, Malark let out a half-laugh. “Is—is everywhere an answer?” Paddy’s hands went to his stomach, and a soft orange glow briefly filled the room. “What are you doing?” The air started to heat up, and at first Malark tried moving away until he realised it actually felt kind of nice. “Is that a heat spell?”

“Yeah.” For a few moments, nothing happened. Neither of them spoke. Then, gradually, Malark relaxed into Paddy again and the wood elf let his hands rest on his stomach. “Feel better?”

“A little. You put some pain-sucking mojo in there, didn’t you?” He glanced over, eyes narrowing a little, and Paddy flushed in the soft glow from his hands. Leaning into him, Malark mumbled, “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Things started to get better after that.

**Author's Note:**

> Let’s pretend that Paddy knows pain-drawing and heat-creating spells. Also, Malark’s reactions are based off of, you know, guessing that he’s likely cis in the official series and therefore has never dealt with this kind of thing.   
> The witch’s name is Cybil Whitney and she’s a character from some of my official stories who hasn’t popped up yet. She likes causing chaos and having fun, and also likes her two moms (who have shown up in my currently published series). Malark’s reaction is slightly over-the-top for him (and for me, honestly, but that’s because I would never hear the end of it if I complained), but that’s okay because cycles suck as much as sitting on a cactus in a bikini. Not that I would know (about the cactus and bikini bit), I haven’t worn a swimsuit without shorts and a shirt over it in about two years.   
> Anyways, I want death, Chick Fil A, and chocolate (not necessarily in that order). Or maybe, you know, seven extra inches of height and some other stuff).   
> Thanks for reading, I’ll be back eventually.


End file.
